Bound
by rebellioninabottle
Summary: With the Ozunu dead, Mika thought life would return to some semblance of normalcy. She was wrong. Mika/Raizo. DISCONTINUED - Sorry folks, but the plot bunny died.


Title: Bound, a Ninja Assassin Fanfic  
Pairing: Raizo/Mika  
Rating: R (just to be safe)  
Disclaimer: Don't own. Wish I did because Mika and Raizo would've gotten it on and satisfied my pervish fantasies.

_i.  
__the homecoming_

Death had a way of changing one's perspective on a lot of things. Take for instance, Mika Coretti. Her existence used to be one of a humble office clerk, a glorified librarian in the great sterilized, metal hallways of the Europol central headquarters in Berlin. She had meandered through life, unassuming of the big, bad world that had existed outside, unassuming of the things that lurked in the darkness. Unassuming, until she had stumbled onto the secret of the Ozunu clan and the turn her life had taken after her eyes first lit on that most ancient and mysterious name and the great, big adventure her life got swept up in.

Now, every shadow scared her and every power outage had her on edge. It wasn't that Mika Coretti feared the dark—okay, that was fastly becoming a lie, but a girl _could_ lie to herself sometimes—it was just that, after meeting the stoic and mysterious Raizo, the dark was no longer just that: the dark. It was a place now where monsters lingered, where every reaching shadow could be so much more than just that. After that, she slept with the light on; her entire dwelling lit like someone had taken every light bulb in the entire city and littered her apartment with them. Every sound woke her; every flittering scamper of a rat's claws against the pavement at night when she came home from work made her eyes dart left and right, made her cringe and her heart leap into her throat.

And on some nights when she was especially on edge, she kept a side arm on her person at all times, slept with it under her pillow, gripping the cool metal in the tight grasp of her palms, feeling its angular parts dig into the flesh of her skin; she never let it go on those nights. She kept it tucked close, cradled it as a mother would her child, and prayed that it would keep her safe from the things that went bump in the night. It was probably the most useless thing she could've kept with her, but its weight reassured her, the shift and click of cold metal sliding against metal, no matter how useless to those living shadows that moved in the dark, kept her sanity in check when all she really wanted to do was run outside, screaming madly in the streets for all the world to see. She wanted to shout that everything was not right with the world as everyone thought they knew it and that the silly, little lives that people were living was a smoke screen of deception.

Maybe she should have herself committed. Maybe that would ease the tension that she felt every single time she stepped out of her apartment and into the busy-bodiness of Berlin's streets, staring hard at each face, wondering which one—if any—were the face of a trained killer.

"If you keep staring at your desk like that, I'm sure you'll be able to burn a hole into it eventually."

Mika gave a brief start, uttered a choked cry of surprise and whirled in alarm. Flashbacks of only a few short weeks ago, of fire and shadows moving, of choking smoke and ash, and of pain—most definitely of pain that was still raw and itching on the left side of her chest—rushed through her mind and her hand instantly flew to the side piece that she kept hidden, tucked under her arm. Ryan Maslow stood in the doorway to her office, casually leaning on the doorframe, but when he saw the wild look in that had ignited in Mika's eyes from his intrusion, his stance immediately tensed and his face broke out into an apologetic grimace.

"Sorry about that, Mika," he whispered, and stepped further into her office, closing the door behind him. "I forgot that…I'm just…Sorry."

"No need to apologize, Ryan," Mika replied, her voice quivering ever so much, trying to rein in the fear that had suddenly overtaken her. She swallowed. "S'alright. No harm, no foul."

"Of course. " He looked uncomfortable as an awkward silence settled between them, and Mika had to wonder when their friendship had suddenly become so strained.

_How about when a certain dark-haired ninja showed up and turned your entire life on its ass, Mika_, she chided herself and swallowed again, remembering the dark hair and even darker eyes of Raizo, memory burning in her mind's eye of the last time she had seen him. She breathed, looked up at Ryan, who was studying her closely, and tried for a smile; it came out as a grimace.

"Mika," Ryan began, but she waved him silent, deciding to spare him enduring her less-than-stellar presence at the moment.

"You wanted something?" She returned to the mounds and mounds of paperwork that lay stacked like individual, wavering towers of paper Pisa on her desk, forgotten during her mind's foray into winding, tumbling, distressing memory. "I've got lots of work to catch up on and not much time to do it."

She was on a deadline. Taking even the few weeks off afforded to her by her higher ups to heal from her injuries had left so many things unfinished and undone that it would take many more weeks for her to finally get caught up. She looked up when Ryan didn't immediately answer and shot he a puzzled, but expectant look.

"Ryan?"

"Time is exactly what I wanted to talk with you about, Mika."

Her puzzlement became a frown as Ryan took a seat at her desk and fixed her with a no-nonsense glare, and at any other time, Mika would've met that glare with apprehension. Instead she pursed her lips together in a thin, straight line and met his glare with her own.

"Yes?"

"You only took two weeks off to heal from a major wound," Ryan began, and Mika sighed. The man shot her a dark look before continuing, "You refused to talk to the Europol psychologist—"

"I did talk to her," Mika protested," and it was all a load of crap."

"Once," he ground out, clearly annoyed. "And you didn't even stay a full hour. You've been walking around here like a ghost, Mika. A robot."

"Well, I'm sorry," Mika hissed, suddenly very angry," but getting stabbed and hunted for a week straight by a clan that was only supposed to be myth has a tendency of doing that to you, Ryan."

"That's not what I—" Ryan stopped himself and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He breathed once, twice then looked up, his blue eyes like steel. "I've requested you take some additional time off."

"You what?!" Mika exploded, slamming her hands on her desk. Her stacks of paperwork wavered, threatening to topple to the floor, but Mika didn't care. How could he—how could he do something so monumentally stupid without asking her? Without getting her consent?

Ryan looked unperturbed at her anger—that he could have the audacity to just come into her office and tell her what he did and then sit there like her anger didn't faze him in the slightest—that infuriated Mika even more.

"I requested," repeating himself, but Mika growled and he stopped.

"I heard you the first time," she hissed. "How could you do that to me, Ryan?"

"Because I care about you, Mika," he replied, his voice heavy, an emotion flashing through his eyes that Mika didn't want to acknowledge or analyze. "And while I know things will…never be normal for you, for me, ever again…I want to see you laugh again."

Mika slumped in her chair, anger deflating at his words and shook her head. "But I have to work. I have to take my mind off of everything or else I'm going to go crazy wondering if, wondering if there's still other ninja out there gunning for my life because of what happened."

Ryan's look was sympathetic, but his voice, when next he spoke, was firm. "I've asked our superiors to give you at least a month-and-a-half off." She looked up and met his gaze with a pleading one of her own, but he didn't budge. He stood and patted her hand awkwardly. "Go home, Mika. See your family. Rest, and when you come back…"

His voice trailed off, he shrugged and left her office. Mika watched him through the glass of her office, before shaking her head and letting it hit the desk with a gentle 'thump'. She hadn't been lying when she had told Ryan that work was one of the only things that were keeping her sanity in check. Work, and her gun, two not very good combinations, but what was she to do with her life now that everything that she had come to believe in had been turned on its ear? She had to keep her mind focused on something, had to keep herself and her thoughts occupied so that they wouldn't return to the events of a few weeks ago, to the figures that had chased her—still chased her in nightmares—and to the dark haired, battle-scarred man that had—once everything was said and done—abandoned her to make sense of this crazy, messed up existence she found herself suddenly in.

Mika groaned, sat up and looked at the disorganized mess of her desk and sighed.

"Dammit, Maslow."

x8x

Somewhere in the distance, two eyes blinked lazily, pupils contracting from the abrupt blaze of sunlight, and trained on the sight of a dark-skinned female as she sat at her desk, hesitating for only a moment, before rising, grabbing her purse and walking out of the door of her office. A body unfurled like that of a deadly jungle cat, muscles tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing, as the body shifted and rose from its crouched position, standing at its full height. Arms stretched, hands curled into tight, pale fists and a neck cracked as shoulders were rotated and strain was released.

A mouth curved into a wicked smile as feet moved, fleet-footed and soundless, a long the building's rooftop, and carrying the body—its long legs bracing itself—over the edge of the roof and down, down, down to a turret that jutted out from the building's glass side. An office worker, glancing out her window at that exact moment, blinked in surprise at the sight before her, but before she could scream or run to the window to be sure of what she had seen, the body twisted and vanished. The woman sat back at her desk and chalked up her momentary insanity to a long work-week ahead.

Leather, like cream against the pale skin, flapped only slightly as feet landed deftly on the alleyway below. The eyes darted left, darted right, but no one had seen, and feet moved, shifted along the alleyway floor, carrying the body out, out into the noon-day sun to melt into the lunch crowds that occupied Berlin's streets. Eyes traveled over face after face until hers was spotted, moving swiftly from the Europol headquarters and down an opposite way. The body moved, shifted and sidestepped a young couple out for a walk. Nostrils flared, a thousand and one scents came to the sensitive nose hairs, but one in particular was caught: lavender and rose. The mouth curved up into a wicked smile again, and the body moved, following the scent.

The game was underway.

x8x

She should've known something was off when she stepped into her apartment, after all, what had been the point of her getting her own gun, if she weren't going to be aware and use it, but her mind was so focused on what Ryan had said and done that Mika didn't sense the danger until it was literally right on top of her. She screamed in terror as a dark shaped crashed into her, slamming her into the wood of her closed door. Her keys scattered, her purse was flung to the wayside and at her ear, hot breath brushed against her skin, and a voice hissed, "You'll pay for what you've done, _aka_."

Mika screamed again, heart pounding wildly in her chest, legs trembling, ready to buckle underneath her. She scrambled for her gun, but whoever it was grabbed her hand, wrenching it from her side and spun her like a child's topsy-turvy toy. Mika was disoriented and before she could get her bearings, a well-placed punch to her gut sent her sprawling to the floor, the wind knocked out of her. She gasped desperately for much needed air.

_Well, there goes my holiday_, Mika thought semi-hysterically, despite the pain. She tried to look up, tried to see the face of her attacker, but who ever the assassin was—and surely, that's who it had to have been, no doubts about it—circled her prone form, and Mika couldn't keep her eyes trained on the constantly in-motion figure.

"You, not even worthy of the breath you breathe, thought yourself worthy to defeat Ozunu?" came the angry hiss. The voice sounded distinctly female and very young, probably no older than a teenager's would. Mika swallowed thickly as understanding dawned. Of course there would be retribution, why wouldn't there be? There was no way that _ALL_ of the Ozunu ninjas had been wiped out. Some of them had to have been a way from the compound on other assignments or had to have escaped the worst of the assault. Hell, some might've even lived.

The fleet-footed assassin continued to circle Mika and all the woman could was watch the deadly killer's footsteps, not daring to look up, scared out of her mind and wondering why the assassin hadn't finished her off yet. Was the girl taunting her, toying with her, heightening Mika's fear with each passing moment to make her death all the more sweeter? Mika could've been a poet with the way her thoughts turned, but she didn't have time to ponder on why she hadn't have taken that career track instead of the one that had left her in this dire predicament. The sound of a sharp blade being drawn filed Mika's ears. She swallowed again, hands gathered into tight, tight fists, trembling like a wind-tossed leaf. She shut her eyes; she didn't want to see the end coming.

The assassin stopped in her maddeningly slow circuit around Mika's body. Metal sang as it sliced the air. She could hear the assassin's breathing hitch.

_Here it comes_, Mika thought desperately. _This is it. This is it._ She squeezed her eyes tightly, anticipating the pain of sharp metal sliding through her body, piercing a vital organ and dying alone in her apartment.

But the end never came.

She heard a sickeningly wet 'pop' sound, like someone cracking their knuckles underwater, and then a loud thump. Her eyes shot open and she found herself staring into the sightless orbs of one very young, very dead, girl. Her mouth parted as her throat went dry and her eyes traveled up from the sightless staring eyes of the girl, up and up and up to two very solid, black pant-covered legs and even farther up to a narrow waist and hands braced to either side, a wicked and dangerous dagger gripped by one, up to a broad chest, breathing calmly, until her eyes lit upon a very familiar face.

"Raizo," she breathed, in both fear and awe. His gaze was blazing and intense, and it trapped her, like a moth, in its dark, dark brown orbs.

"Mika," he said simply, his voice a soft baritone whisper, but it still caused her to shiver. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, mouth still parted in shock, but managed to at least pull herself off the floor in a seated position and breath. Her eyes, wide and beginning to swim with tears, left Raizo's face and landed on that of the girl's again. She reached out, to touch, just to touch…

"Don't," Raizo hissed, moving forward. He hesitated for only a split second, before placing a careful hand gingerly on her shoulder. "Don't touch her."

"Why?" Mika asked, looking up suddenly. "Is she going to burst into flames or something? Or is she just going to disappear because, you know, there aren't any shadows here, Raizo."Despite being attacked only moments before, Mika was suddenly very angry, and she knew that the anger was making her sound slightly hysterical, but she didn't care. First, Ryan. Now, this. And what the hell was this? She voiced as much to Raizo and the young man stood, staring down at her calmly.

"Retribution," he replied, simply, as if that explained everything.

"Retribution?" Mika laughed suddenly, hand going to her gun, feeling the useless weight of it, and its uselessness, being calmed a fraction. "I thought Ozunu was dead."

"It is," Raizo said by way of explanation. "But some survived, and they seek revenge." He pointed to the girl. "Her name was Maeko. She was young, and inexperienced. And angry. But she is the least of our problems."

"Problems?" Mika asked, disbelieving. "'Our' problems?" She shook her head and stood on shaking legs, nearly tumbling to the floor again if Raizo had not reached out to catch her. She pushed him away when she'd gotten her footing, wrapping her arms tightly around herself and looking away. "There is no 'our', Raizo. Ozunu is dead, and I'm not in the mood to have more of them—" she pointed at the dead girl's body, unable to look at it now without blanching—"coming after me—"

"Ozunu is dead," Raizo said again, this time with more force than before. Mika looked up and meet his searing gaze again, burning her to her very core. She shuddered. "But there were nine clans, Mika. Ozunu was the Eldest."

Mika's throat went dry again. "So there's eight more?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Eight," she said again, tasting the familiar number on her tongue. "And I suppose they're going to be coming after me because of what happened?"

Raizo nodded the affirmative. Mika closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tighter around her chest, hoping she wasn't trembling too much for Raizo to see. Not that she wasn't sure the man couldn't sense her fear; after all, he had aptly shown that he could sense when she was lying. Mika dragged in a careful breath, and then another and another, trying to calm her nerves.

"Mika, we have to go," Raizo said softly, in that deep baritone of his. She felt warmth radiating from his body as he came to stand before her, and a gentle brush of his breath as he breathed. She opened her eyes and his gaze for a few moments before looking away.

"Where?" she asked faintly.

"Somewhere safe," he answered simply. She nodded, unwilling to move despite the peril she knew she would soon be in if she didn't. "Gather only that which is most important. We won't be coming back."

Mika nodded, but still she didn't move. Thoughts were rushing through her head, images of the last few weeks, memories of the life that she had lived before all of this craziness had descended upon her and engulfed her. What about Ryan? Would she be able to contact him, tell him that she was alright? What about her family? Her friends? What about everything she had come to know and call her own?

She had to abandon everything. She had to leave it all behind. How could she? How could she leave behind all these things that were so intrinsically apart of her that she would feel lost without them? Would she leave behind the music box her father had given to her on her eighth birthday? Or the crystal flower her sister had given her on her graduation day from college? What about photo albums and picture frames filled with the smiling and laughing faces of colleagues and the people that she knew?

Raizo must've sensed her indecision because his hand immediately went her elbow, and gripped it firmly. She looked up, but didn't stare at his stoic face. She didn't want to see the calm resignation that seemed to perpetually reside there.

"We have to go, Mika," he said again, and this time she did move. He stepped back and released her arm as she squared her shoulders and began the arduous task of packing up her life.

x8x

Eyes watched as the man and woman left the apartment building. A tongue flickered out from bow-shaped lips, tasting the air, picking up the scent, the trail, of the game. Hands gripped the building side, steady, but strong, and feet planted themselves firmly in footholds along the building's walls. The body was perched, just watching, waiting. Its eyes tracked the man, his fluid movements as he blended in with the crowd seamlessly, as if he had been apart of the river of people that were traveling to and fro, busy with their own lives. The woman was less sure, gripping a small tote bag that she carried with her like it was her only life line in this crazy messed up world.

Lips parted, tongue tasting the air again. Eyes flickered closed. Ears opened, catching the sound of the distant, hurried footsteps of the pair. Nostrils flared, picking up the non-distinct scent of the man, one that was easily lost, but the woman's…not too hard.

Eyes flickered open. The body moved, jumping down from its perch and blending just as seamlessly into the crowd.


End file.
